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I always marvel at the humans' ability to keep going. They always manage to stagger on even with tears streaming down their faces.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Always
Manage
Tears
Ability
Faces
Keep
Humans
Stagger
Even
Streaming
Going
Marvel

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It’s all very well for such a person to whine and moan and criticize other family members, but they won’t let anyone else do it. That’s when you get your back up and show loyalty.
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He was the crazy one who had painted himself black and defeated the world. She was the book thief without the words. Trust me, though, the words were on their way, and when they arrived, Liesel would hold them in her hands like the clouds, and she would wring them out like rain.
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For a moment, I panic. It's that feeling of falling when you know without question, that you've lost control of your car, or made a mistake that's beyond repair. 'What do I do now?' I ask desperately. 'Tell me! What do I do now?' He remains calm. He looks at me closely and says, 'Keep living, Ed... It's only the pages that stop here.
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As we walk back, it feels like the city is engulfing us. Adrenalin still pours through our veins. Sparks flow through to our fingers. We've still been running in the mornings, but the city's different then. It's filled with hope and with bristles of winter sunshine. In the evening, it's like it dies, waiting to be born again the next morning.
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Around us I can sniff out a savagery in the noisy southern air. It knifes it's way into my nose, but I do not bleed blood. It's fear I bleed, and it gushes out over my lip. I wipe it away, in a hurry.
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A fighter can be a winner, but that doesn't make a winner a fighter.
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She was one if the few souls that made me wonder what's it to live.
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Maybe one morning I’ll wake up and step outside of myself to look back at the old me lying dead among the sheets.
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You don't shoot a dog when it is already dead.
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How'd it feel? Rube asked himself. I don't know exactly, but it made me want to howl.
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Summer came. For the books thief, everything was going nicely. For me, the sky was the color of Jews.
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He does something to me, that boy. Every time. It’s his only detriment. He steps on my heart. He makes me cry.
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Together, they would watch everything that was so carefully planned collapse, and they would smile at the beauty of destruction.
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Failure has been my best friend as a writer. It tests you, to see if you have what it takes to see it through.
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No matter how many times she was told that she was loved, there was no recognition that the proof was in the abandonment.
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You can't eat books, sweetheart.
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Five hundred souls. I carried them in my fingers, like suitcases. Or I'd throw them over my shoulder. It was only the the children I carried in my arms.
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Each night, Liesel would step outside, wipe the door, and watch the sky. Usually it was like spillage - cold and heavy, slippery and gray - but once in a while some stars had the nerve to rise and float, if only for a few minutes. On those nights, she would stay a little longer and wait. Hello, stars.
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There were stars. They burned my eyes.
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Personally, I like a chocolate-colored sky, dark, dark chocolate.
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